


Don't Travel Alone

by mountain_born



Series: The Marvelous Tale of an Agent, an Archer, and an Assassin [3]
Category: Doctor Who (2005), Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Doctor Who/Avengers Crossover Fusion, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-31
Updated: 2013-01-31
Packaged: 2017-11-27 15:06:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/663394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mountain_born/pseuds/mountain_born
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Years ago, River Song had decided that she was better off alone.  No companions.  No connections.  No complications.  She hadn't counted on the complications having other ideas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't Travel Alone

**Author's Note:**

> This is a series of vignettes which take place from 2005-2009 and can be read concurrently with a similar set of vignettes, _The Girl Who Didn't Make Sense_ , which was posted last week. Some vignettes will be spun off into their own full-length fics.
> 
> Once again, **like_a_raven** 's betaing skills are without peer.

_September 2005_

There was a certain element within SHIELD that said that the reason Hawkeye had brought the Reaper in alive was because he’d thought she’d be a good fuck.

Only Agent Overby was stupid enough to say it to Barton’s face. 

River had seen Overby around the base. She’d come to the conclusion that he was used to getting away with saying whatever he wanted because what he lacked in a brain/mouth filter, he made up for in size and sheer brute strength. Overby was an enforcer type, the sort of agent who got assigned to security, protection details, and strike teams where rapidly overpowering a threat by force was called for. 

The sort of agent who looked a bit askance at the covert operatives, who did their jobs via sneaking and subterfuge.

That was a pattern that River had started to notice in her short time at SHIELD. The organization was large (multiple bases around the world) and covert. But the true covert operatives themselves were a rarefied breed. The elite. For every ten agents who seemed to hold them in awe and reverence, there was at least one who thought that they were no better than the targets they were sent after, a necessary evil.

River heard an account of the altercation between Barton and Overby by accident. She was tempted to tell trainee agents Taylor, O’Brien, and Weiner that if they didn’t want to be overheard, they shouldn’t gossip while standing around the mess hall’s coffee station. She was also tempted to tell them that if they didn’t want to die their first time out in the field, they really ought to work on paying more attention to their surroundings. River walked up to the drinks station and calmly set about brewing her tea while they talked.

“Overby really said that?” O’Brien asked, her large blue eyes wide with half-gleeful shock.

Taylor nodded. “That’s what I heard. Now Overby’s in the infirmary claiming that he took a header down a flight of stairs.”

“He’s not going to report Barton?” Weiner asked.

“Would you?” Taylor countered. He shook his head. “He might just take a ‘fall’ off the roof if he did that.”

“Well, do you think it’s really true…that…” O’Brien trailed off, spotting River standing behind Weiner’s shoulder.

River smiled. “Please, don’t let me interrupt.”

The other three trainees twitched uncomfortably.

The Reaper’s reputation had preceded her to the SHIELD base. People tended to give her a wide berth, even those who didn’t know the details of the Nairobi job that had landed her on SHIELD’s kill list. River didn’t mix with the other trainees much. Coulson kept her on a schedule that had her working mostly on her own, or with him and Barton. River wasn’t sure if he meant that to be for her benefit, or for the benefit of the general SHIELD population.

Not that it really mattered either way.

River added a splash of milk to her tea, set the mug on her tray, and started to walk by the others. She saw Weiner’s adam’s apple bob nervously as she went past. River couldn’t resist. 

“BOO!”

Weiner jumped, fumbling his tray. River had already moved on when it crashed to the floor, sending the entire mess hall into silence for a moment.

River smiled. Juvenile? Yes. But what was the point of being over seventy years old if you couldn’t be juvenile every now and then?

She ignored the glances that turned her way as she walked to her usual table in the back. Juvenile impulses aside, she was far from being a child and light years away from the days when her feelings would have been hurt by something as silly as people swapping rumors in a cafeteria. It wasn’t as if she had signed on to SHIELD to have friends.

River frowned. She also hadn’t joined with the intention of gaining her own personal protector. _If_ the story about Overby were true, and _if_ that had been any part of Barton’s motivation for assaulting the other agent, she’d have to make sure to nip that in the bud. It would be better for all their sakes.

She didn’t have to wait long to find out. By two o’clock she had changed into athletic clothes and was jogging through a crisp autumn breeze to the outdoor obstacle course to meet Agents Coulson and Barton. 

They were already there, down at the far end where a few benches marked the beginning of the course. They seemed to be in the middle of a somewhat heated conversation when she arrived, one that they quickly broke off when they saw her coming. That, River felt, didn’t bode especially well.

“All right,” Coulson said. “So, today we’re just going to—dammit.” He fished his ringing cell phone out of his pocket. “Sit tight for a minute. I need to take this.”

While Coulson wandered a few steps away, River sized Barton up under the guise of sitting down on one of the benches and taking a look at the printout of the obstacle course route. Not a mark on his face, and no adjustment to his posture that would indicate blows to the body. But the hands were always the giveaway when you had been fighting, even if your opponent never managed to land a hit.

Sure enough, Barton’s were bruised, scraped, and red across the knuckles. As he took a seat on the bench next to her, he flexed them as if they were sore.

River turned her eyes back to the course map. 

“I don’t need you to defend my honor, you know,” she said mildly.

He stiffened a bit beside her.

“Maybe I was defending mine,” he said after a moment.

River nodded. That’s what she’d wanted to hear.

“In that case,” River set aside the map, “by all means, beat up anyone you like.”

No complications. That would be the key to surviving this experiment with SHIELD.

*****

_January 2006_

River wasn’t fond of apologizing. Especially when she knew she had been in the wrong. She didn’t like allowing people that sort of upper hand on her, but she didn’t see any way around it this time.

She owed Barton an apology. 

He’d gotten back from his mission in Baska a few hours ago and had been holed up in his quarters resting since. River didn’t flatter herself that he was hiding from her. He certainly hadn’t been hesitant about confronting her before he had left last week.

_I don’t know why you’re playing this game all of a sudden, Song, but be done with it by the time I get back._

She should have known better, especially given that business with Overby back in September. She’d insulted Barton. It hadn’t actually been her intent, though River was honest enough with herself to know that she had planned on her “game” working out to her tactical advantage. Apparently, she’d miscalculated, though, misjudged the situation. It had been sloppy. 

River frowned as she stared at Barton’s door. She felt like she miscalculated a lot at SHIELD. Sometimes it was like the whole place was designed to throw her off-kilter, Barton in particular. 

He’d refused to kill her in Sofia. That could be chalked up to a moment of sentiment or insanity. It was the four months since that had truly been causing her to eye him with suspicion. He’d been kind to her. Tried to act like they were friends, or could be. River couldn’t understand why he would go to the trouble, and could only figure that he was after a little companionship in exchange for helping her. As far as she could tell, he didn’t get out all that much. He was one of the “good guys” though, with a sense of honor she’d seen him fight to protect, and would never ask or demand it of her directly.

Maybe she had wanted to prove to him exactly how tenuous such honorable ideals were. Maybe she had just been frustrated over the complete lack of control she had over her situation at present. River had spent almost a week trying to goad him into acting on what she was certain he wanted. He had kept quietly rebuffing her before tersely informing her that he was leaving on an assignment. 

_Be done with it by the time I get back._

It was rather embarrassing, really. She’d learned this game before he’d even been born, and he’d reacted like she was clumsy teenager trying to throw herself at him.

River would admit to herself, after having a week to reflect, that she had perhaps come to unfair conclusions about Barton’s motives. It had just been easier to think that he wanted sex than to think that he was nice to her with no ulterior motive. Kindness for the sake of kindness was something she’d stopped trusting a long time ago. Tit-for-tat was something she was actually more comfortable with, and she’d done far worse things than him, figuratively speaking.

River’s hand hovered over the door’s buzzer for a second, then went for the keypad instead. It was a fairly easy matter for her to work around the standard security access panels. Computers operated on languages and, thanks to the TARDIS, she’d always been very adept at languages. She let herself into Barton’s quarters in under a minute.

Barton was stretched out on his bed, eyes closed, hands laced behind his head. It was fairly dark, the only light coming from the bathroom. He hadn’t even taken off his boots. His duffle and coat had been dumped in the middle of the floor, but River noted that the cases containing his bow and rifle were stacked tidily against the wall. 

River was sure he wasn’t asleep. Their business was simply one that bred light sleepers, and River took care to shuffle her feet a bit when she came in, and let the door close behind her with a bit of a click. He didn’t move or even crack an eyelid. In fact, he didn’t acknowledge her presence at all.

River wondered if that meant he was still put out with her. She took a breath.

“Look,” River said without preamble, “I want you to know I understand that I offended you.”

No response. River deliberately refrained from gritting her teeth. He was going to be difficult about this, wasn’t he?

“I’m sorry.”

Barton took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He still didn’t answer or even open his eyes.

River folded her arms and counted out a full minute, waiting for something. She stepped closer.

“Fine. I get it,” she said. “I don’t owe you anything for helping me. That’s…”

Her eyes drifted to the bulletin board over his desk. Her handiwork was tacked up there, the old proverb she’d written out in Gallifreyan one evening when she should have been doing her SHIELD homework. She’d given it to him on a whim. It was a little disconcerting to see it displayed here.

_Demons run when a good man goes to war._

Maybe that saying suited him more than she’d realized.

“…that’s strange,” she said. “But if that’s the line you want to play, then all right. I won’t press the matter again.”

She really wished he’d say something. River took another step or two closer.

“I guess I’m just…” River sighed, rubbing her forehead. “I think the layman’s term is _screwed in the head._ I’m sure Psych has a much more proper name for it. Is that what you want to hear me say?”

Barton cracked his eyes open and looked directly at her.

River expected a smart remark. She did not expect Barton to startle halfway to standing, a combat knife pulled from God-alone-knew-where. River had automatically shifted into a stance to block the attack and retaliate when he stopped and blinked.

“River?” He stared at her in confusion. “What the hell are you doing in here?”

Now it was River’s turn to be confused. “What do you mean what the hell am I doing in here? I’ve been trying to--”

Barton held up one finger to cut her off. He stood up, dropped the knife on his bed, and turned on the bedside lamp. River watched as he picked up two small items from the nightstand. She hadn’t even noticed them. 

Barton inserted one in each ear before turning back to her.

“Okay. Now.” He folded his arms and looked at her with a guarded expression. “What the hell are you doing in here?”

She was a little too busy staring at him and wondering how she had managed to miss the hearing aids for four months to offer a quick answer. Barton frowned when she didn’t respond.

“So help me, Song, if this is another--”

“No,” she said hastily. “No, it’s not.”

River supposed she couldn’t blame him for thinking that. Her “game” hadn’t included turning up in his quarters unexpectedly, but it probably would only have been a matter of time.

“I just wanted to tell you…” River tried to think of a way to sum up the explanation and apology that he’d apparently not heard a word of. “I just wanted to tell you ‘game over.’”

His face relaxed and he suddenly looked a lot more like the Barton she’d been growing accustomed to. “Yeah?”

She nodded. “Yeah.”

That seemed to be enough. “Okay.”

River wasn’t sure she’d ever met anyone worse at holding a grudge than Clint Barton.

She must have still been staring because he smiled a little and tapped one of his ears. “Sonic arrow in close quarters about three years ago,” he said. “It got me out of a tight spot, but it blew most of the hearing in both of them.”

“I didn’t know.”

“Most people don’t,” he said. “The folks in R&D know what they’re doing. It took them a few tries, but they’ve gotten these damn near perfect. They’re secure, you can barely see them, and I can wear them pretty much non-stop if I need to. I like to take them out when I can, though.” He raised his eyebrows at her. “I usually don’t have people letting themselves into my quarters. Phil does every now and then, but he knows to flash the overhead light if I don’t answer the buzzer.”

River nodded. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“So.” Barton clapped his hands together. “Did I miss anything exciting this week?”

“Not really.”

“Great.” He picked his security pass up off the desk. “You can tell me all about it over dinner. I’m starving.”

River raised an eyebrow at him. “Have you ever considered consulting Medical about the fact that you seem to have a hollow leg?”

The slip back into dry banter felt surprisingly good. River found that she was as relieved as he was that this particular game was over.

“What can I say? I’m a growing boy.” Barton opened the door of his quarters and waved her to go ahead. “After you, Song.”

*****

_March 2006_

When Clint Barton had decided to bring River Song in alive, he hadn’t banked on winding up with a partner. But the directive came down straight from Fury when River came off probationary status after six months at SHIELD. Coulson informed them of the decision after spending almost an entire morning in conference with the Director.

Clint was surprised. His entire career at SHIELD had, thus far, been as a solo operative with Coulson running his ops, either on site or remotely from base. He was a sniper. He’d sometimes provided cover for other agents on missions and occasionally worked jobs up close in the field himself, but his primary job for SHIELD was carrying out distance kills and surveillance. Being partnered with River was going to mean a few fundamental changes in the nature of his job and assignments.

He didn’t quite know what to think about that. 

It was also hard to tell what River thought of the order, but then it could be hard to tell what River thought of much of anything. In the last six months (with a few absences when he’d been on missions) he’d spent more time with her than anyone except Coulson and often he still couldn’t get a read on her. Half the time she still met Clint’s attempts to coax her out of her shell with something like polite disbelief. She still seemed to have zero interest in bonding unless he counted that week of insanity back in January, and Clint didn’t. They’d both let that drop and, as they both apparently found it to be a source of embarrassment, they’d never referred to it again.

Clint could tell that Coulson was not particularly thrilled about the directive, but he had patiently explained Fury’s reasons—again—once they were alone.

“He thinks you two work well together. Which you do,” Coulson said. It hadn’t really been tested in the field yet, thugs in Sofia aside, but they had trained together enough for it to be evident. “Your skill sets complement each other, and you’re on roughly the same level, which frankly is miles ahead of most of our other operatives. You’ll be able to keep up with each other. And,” Coulson added, “the number of people who are going to be willing to work with her is fairly limited.”

“I sense a _but_ coming,” Clint said.

“No _but_.” Coulson shook his head. “Fury’s argument was entirely reasonable.”

Clint gave his friend a knowing look. “You don’t trust her.”

Coulson sighed, crossing his arms. “I can’t figure her out,” he said.

Clint knew that was a source of frustration for Coulson. The older agent was still gathering information in bits and pieces on River, but it was slow going and every bit he found seemed to make her harder to understand, not easier.

“Does Fury trust her?” Clint asked.

Coulson smiled a bit. “I think that may also be a reason why he wants us to keep her close.”

So that if the she turned or tried to take off, she’d be in the company of at least one person who could stop her. And that, Clint knew, was Coulson’s main objection to the partnership. Honestly, the thought gave Clint pause, too. You wanted to be sure that you could trust the people you worked with.

As it turned out, while neither of them could say with any certainty that River Song actually _liked_ him, she did have their backs.

The next week, they went down to a bar in the city one evening to have a non-SHIELD dinner and celebrate River’s new status as an agent. The Legal department had come through with some (more than mildly fraudulent) paperwork, including a driver’s license showing River Song to be a _bona fide_ citizen of the state of New York. 

“Should have lied about my age,” she said, eyeing her glass of soda with mild distaste. “Puritanical American morality hang-ups. What’s SHIELD policy on fake IDs when we’re not on missions?”

“SHIELD policy is that you drink your Coke and bide your time for the next two years and three months,” Coulson said. But he didn’t say a word later when Clint went for another round and came back with three beers instead of two. The bar was bustling enough that no one was really going to notice.

Maybe it was the phase of the moon, maybe it had just been a long week for everyone, but half of the city seemed to be in the mood to blow off steam, and the bar was packed and getting unruly as the evening wore on. By the time the SHIELD agents decided to call it a night and head back to base, it had gotten markedly more crowded and louder.

They were working their way toward the exit when a large man wearing a Yankees jacket and reeking of whiskey fumes stumbled into their space and right into Coulson. He barely bumped the agent off balance. The other man, however, lurched, glared down at Coulson as if he’d deliberately jumped in his path, and wound up to launch a fist at him as he slurred at him to move the fuck out of the way.

Clint was ready to jump in if he needed to, but Coulson was calmly waiting for the widely telegraphed blow to come into range. In quarters this close, Coulson would be able to subdue the drunk with a minimum of violence while making it look like the man had just tripped over his own feet. Then they’d be on their way.

But Coulson didn’t get the chance. Two seconds later the man had been flung flat on his back on a nearby table, gasping and going purple in the face as River’s hand tightened around his windpipe.

“Apologize,” she said to the sputtering man. The quiet menace in her voice was easy to hear given how sharply the volume of noise in the bar had just dropped.

Most people nearby were drawing back, but the drunk seemed to have some buddies over in the corner who were only a little slow in realizing that their friend had found some trouble. Seeing the bartender and at least three patrons pulling out their phones, Clint and Coulson grabbed River by either arm and hustled her out the door before a brawl could develop.

All they needed was to have to call Fury tonight to tell him that they needed some help getting SHIELD’s newest agent out of an assault charge. 

More out of habit than anything, they took a fast-paced but circuitous route back to the parking garage where they’d left the car, just in case someone—the charmer’s friends, a good Samaritan with a hero complex—decided to follow them. On the way, Coulson had a number of choice words to say on the subject of using combat moves on civilians, no matter how rude, most of which boiled down to _DO NOT._

“Or if you really feel that it’s warranted, for the love of God, Song, don’t do it in front of seventy people,” Coulson said, exasperated, as they hiked up the stairs to Level E. “You wait, catch him alone, get him cornered in an alley, and _then_ beat the shit out of him.”

Clint was sure he saw River’s lips twitch, trying to hold back a smile.

“You know,” Coulson added as they approached the car, “I thought I was done dealing with hot heads when you outgrew this phase, Barton.”

“What do you mean _hot head_?” Clint asked innocently.

“What do you mean _outgrew_?” River added.

Coulson just gave them a look, but he was smiling a little bit.

“Both of you, in the car.”

River went to let herself in the back. She looked at Clint in surprise when he opened the front passenger door, cleared his throat, and nodded for her to get in.

“I’d say you earned shotgun,” he said.

Courting a bar fight might not have been the most conventional means of celebrating new agent status, but after that evening both Clint and Coulson were far less worried about the idea of being a team of three.

*****

_July 2006_

Despite how it seemed at times, SHIELD actually didn’t have an infinite number of planes and jets at their disposal. Sometimes when a trip did not particularly call for stealth, urgency, or a personal arsenal, agents flew commercial like the rest of the population.

It wasn’t bad, though not without its inconveniences. They were on their way back from a short recon in Panama when, through a series of misadventures—their own, other people’s, and the airline’s—Clint, Coulson, and River wound up with sixteen hours to kill in Washington, D.C. thanks to a missed connection. 

Coulson didn’t try very hard to arrange for them to get a flight out of the city any earlier. But then, Clint thought, since there was nothing pressing in the hopper at the moment, that wasn’t really surprising.

After all. D.C.

Clint was in River’s hotel room, sitting in the lone chair with his feet propped up on the desk, thumbing through a magazine. River was stretched out on her stomach on one of the two beds, her head at its foot, watching TV. At one point, she cast a quizzical look over at him.

“And you’re hanging out in my room why exactly?” she asked.

Clint flipped a page. “Phil’s on the phone,” he said.

River glanced at the adjoining door, then shrugged, balled her pillow up into a more comfortable shape beneath her chin, and went back to the television.

A few minutes later the door pushed open and Coulson leaned halfway in. He was dressed to go out and carrying his go bag.

“I’m taking off,” he said to Clint. “You two stay out of trouble. I’ll see you at the airport tomorrow.”

“Night,” was all Clint said, but with an amused grin that had Coulson rolling his eyes as he left, and River watching the byplay with interest. 

Once he was gone, Clint dropped the magazine on the desk. “It’s early, yet,” he said. “Want to walk down to that movie theater we passed on the way in and see what’s playing?”

It was summer, which meant there would probably be at least one decent option for good mindless entertainment.

He expected her to say no. It had been ten months since the mission in Sofia, since Clint had been sent to kill her and made the call to bring her in to SHIELD instead. River was proving to be an effective partner in the field, but still kept Clint and Coulson largely at arm’s length when it came to anything personal. 

Clint thought that maybe she was having to work a bit harder at that than she had in the beginning, but she still tended not to accept invitations to anything that didn’t have to do with work.

So it surprised him when, after a moment, she said, “Sure. Why not?”

A breeze was attempting to cut through the muggy heat of the Virginia summer. They walked along the sidewalk in silence, heading for the neon-lit marquee up ahead. They were halfway there before River spoke.

“So, where did Coulson take off to?” 

Clint grinned a bit. He had been wondering when her curiosity was going to get the better of her.

“He went to go visit Valerie.”

River frowned, and Clint could tell she was trying to place the name.

“Who’s that? Someone with SHIELD?”

“No. I think she works for the Library of Congress.”

Clint had worked with Coulson for about a year before he’d heard about Valerie. The explanation had been bracketed between _Not that it’s any of your business_ and _Grow up, Barton._

River was eying him expectantly, clearly waiting for more information.

“She’s…well, she and Coulson dated off and on when they were in college. She lives in Arlington now, and they have this arrangement where, when they’re in the same town, provided neither one of them is seeing someone else, they…sleep over.”

River raised her eyebrows. “Have sex.”

“That’s what I said.”

“If you’re a ten-year-old girl, sure.” River had stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, forcing Clint to halt as well. Not that he minded. It wasn’t every day he got to watch River Song visibly attempt to process information.

“So, Coulson?” she said. “Coulson has a standing booty call in Arlington? _Our_ Coulson?”

Clint wasn’t sure if he was grinning wider over the possessive pronoun or the use of the words _Coulson_ and _booty call_ in the same sentence.

Oh, who was he kidding? It was completely the latter.

“Yep. Pay attention, sometime. He usually comes back from D.C. in a really good mood.”

The corners of River’s mouth started to turn up, and she shook her head as she began walking again.

“Good for him,” she said.

Clint nodded in agreement as he fell into step beside her.

“So, do you?” she asked after a moment.

“Do I what?” he replied.

“Do you have a friends-with-benefits arrangement set up somewhere?”

Clint gave her a sidelong look. “It takes ten months for you to ask me a personal question and this is what you lead off with?”

She shrugged. “I’m idly curious.”

Clint cleared his throat and waited as a pair of young couples with five kids between them brushed past them on the sidewalk. 

“No one regular, no,” he said.

It was too complicated when you worked for SHIELD, at least at his security level. Even the most casual relationship would have come with questions he wouldn’t have been able to answer—questions about long absences, mysterious injuries, odd reactions to unexpected noises, nightmares. He had tried it once, in his early days with the organization. It had ended in disaster after about six weeks, three weeks of which he’d been stranded out of the country.  


These days the closest he got to a relationship was a few hours of company picked up in a bar on occasion. Clint was okay with that. All things considered it was a sacrifice he’d been willing to make to join SHIELD. But Clint acknowledged that Coulson was damned lucky to have his arrangement.

“Do you?” he added.

It had been months since River had been released from house arrest on the SHIELD base, and she tended to disappear on her days off. She never mentioned where she went, and Clint didn’t ask. They all needed something that didn’t tie back to work.

“Ah, you see,” River said as they walked into the theater box office and joined the short line at the ticket booth, “I make it a point never to satisfy idle curiosity.”

“How is that fair?” Clint asked as they stepped up to the end of the line, looking over the movie titles and times scrolling by on the computerized board. “I told you mine.”

“I didn’t twist your arm and force you,” River said. “I _could_ have. But I didn’t.”

“Kinky, Song,” Clint said dryly.

River smiled serenely. “Not in front of the children, Barton.”

Clint rolled his eyes and shook his head. “Okay. It looks like we have a choice between a romantic comedy set in the 40’s, and exploding robots in outer space.”

“Robots in space,” River said. “Absolutely.”

*****

_July 2007_

It occasionally boggled River’s mind to think of Berlin as a tourist destination. Her earliest true understanding of the city had been as the seat of one of the most evil empires on Earth, one that had pulled the entire world into war. After that had come the decades-long standoff between East and West, the Wall, the Berlin Blockade and Airlift, the Iron Curtain, Checkpoint Charlie.

She’d actually snuck through Checkpoint Charlie. Twice.

That was the past, though. The Nazis had been beaten, the Wall had come down along with the old Soviet Bloc, and she and Clint had spent the day in Berlin playing a happy couple on vacation. They had started to use that as a cover more and more on missions when scoping out an area. They played it convincingly. It made no sense not to use it to their advantage when they could.

They’d spent the day hiking around the Mitte, the historic site at the center of the city. Tomorrow would be more of the same, this time venturing outward to check out some of the more commercial districts. Just another couple of Americans trying to see as much of the city as they could in a limited amount of time. Taking in the sights. Touching base with contacts. Taking pictures. Doing reconnaissance. Listening to tour guides. Trying to gather enough intel to bring down a human trafficking ring that had set up shop in the city. The usual. 

This was a multi-pronged SHIELD endeavor, something that River had not taken part in before. Four additional agents, one other pair and two individuals, had arrived in Berlin over the last few days. They’d already made contact with Agent Stone today, under the guise of asking for directions to the Neue Synagogue. 

Things should get interesting on Friday night. That was when they were all due to find their way to the club that the ring supposedly used as its headquarters. 

For now, River was just glad to be holed up in their safe house, a tiny studio apartment in a handily central location. Even for Europe, it was tiny. German efficiency was one thing, but bloody hell. It was just as well that Coulson was helping to run this op remotely from New York. If they had tried to fit one more body in here, the walls might have actually cracked apart at the joints.

Just as well, too, that after a little over a year as partners, she and Barton knew that, solidly ninety-two percent of the time, they could share tight quarters without wanting to kill each other.

Okay, there had been that mission in Tel Aviv, but anyone would have gotten tetchy under those circumstances.

River was at the apartment’s miniature desk, working at her laptop. The desk was right up against a window, and over the top of her screen she could see the lights of the city. New York might, by reputation, be the city that never sleeps, but Berlin could give it a run for its money. For River’s part, all she had wanted when they’d gotten back to the safe house after dinner had been a long shower, her pajamas, and bed. Two out of the three objectives had been accomplished. It was her turn to type up the daily log report to send to Coulson, and then she could turn in.

For his part, Clint had broken out the mission files again as soon they’d gotten back, spreading them over the apartment’s small kitchen table. River hadn’t been sure why. They’d committed them to memory, and in some cases, over-prepping for a mission could be as bad as being under prepared. Though now that her eye caught something in the window glass, she thought she knew why he was suddenly preoccupying himself with homework.

He was watching her again. 

She could see his reflection from her seat. He seemed to notice the slight shift in the angle of her head, though, and quickly turned his eyes back to the briefs in front of him.

He’d been looking at her like that more and more over the last few months. Well, she hadn’t been an innocent in a good long while. She knew exactly what that look was about. 

Honestly, she’d given him a few herself. She was just better at not being noticed.

He always seemed to have a harder time hiding it on days like this, when their cover had involved spending most of the day walking hand-in-hand or with his arm over her shoulders, stealing kisses from each other to sell the act (stealing a few more than was strictly necessary, probably). That was understandable, River supposed. But she’d caught that look from him at more mundane times as well: in the SHIELD gym during training, at a briefing, while she was reading on the jet, after a messy mission when she was covered in dirt and three days from her last shower.

River hadn’t decided what she was going to do about any of it, yet. They could just go along as they were, as partners and friends (and a friendship that had not exactly been quickly or easily forged at that). What seemed pretty clear was that if they were going to become anything else, if there were a move to be made, Clint was leaving it up to her to make it.

He had saved her life in Sofia. River didn’t mind admitting that now. And it hadn’t escaped her notice that for all that he’d work with her, argue with her, tease her, offer her comfort and even friendship, he had always been scrupulously careful never to so much as hint that he wanted any sort of _quid pro quo_ from her. Not only that, back in those early days when she had tried to provoke him into saying that he _did_ , he had responded by leaving the country for a week.

Which meant that if anyone was going to rock the platonic boat now, the rule was _ladies first._

River had to smile a bit. He was a good man, her partner. Frayed and tattered and stained grey around the edges, because that was just what life did even to the best of people. But a good man nonetheless.

She knew that alone meant that she shouldn’t. He didn’t need the sort of trouble she had the potential to bring into his life. 

The fact was, River had never actually intended to stick around this long. It had been close to two years since Sofia. In spite of Fury’s welcoming speech, she’d spent her first few months at SHIELD plotting out escape scenarios in her head. It had been half a means of passing the time and half a reminder to herself that she wasn’t truly trapped. She’d gone on the run before and she could do it again. 

She’d almost done it, a year in. She’d made it as far as Grand Central Station. She had had a vague plan to take a train out to one of the farther-flung commuter stations, steal a car and just take off. The question of _To where?_ had brought her up short. Instead she had wound up sitting on the hard marble floor in the terminal for a few hours until Clint had turned up, quietly collected her, and taken her back.

Like that week she’d spent trying to goad him into making a move on her, it was one of those things he never cast up to her.

So she stayed. Sometimes she thought that it was against her better judgment, that she was getting way too accustomed to having the security of being with people she trusted. Even though River knew it wasn’t like before, back when she couldn’t make those kinds of connections (or if she did make them, it was with the knowledge that she’d eventually have to cut them) it was a hard mindset for her to shake.

She didn’t _have_ to leave.

That also made the idea of starting up anything with Clint all the more complicated. Even though she wouldn’t have to run like before, trouble was going to be coming for her one day, and the more involved he was with her, the greater his chances of getting caught in the crossfire.

River sighed.

“You okay?” Clint asked.

River looked at him over her shoulder with a faint smile.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” she said, closing the laptop. “Falling asleep. I think I’m going to turn in.”

He nodded, flipping to a new page in the file. 

“Don’t stay up all night,” River added, getting up. “Long day tomorrow.”

“I won’t.” He glanced up briefly with a smile as she passed. 

On a different day, River would have patted his shoulder or ruffled his hair as she went by. But she didn’t do that on the days she caught him giving her that look. It just seemed mean somehow.

The double bed was behind a screen which partitioned it off from the rest of the main room. River tucked her sidearm under the left edge, made sure that she could easily reach it, flipped on the small fan on the window sill, then crawled under the sheet leaving the right side of the bed for Clint. She really hoped that he’d be sensible and take it, and not try to sleep on the floor or the apartment’s miniscule excuse for a sofa.

River closed her eyes, and within moments was asleep.

 _The Doctor was there, lounging in a beanbag chair and reading a copy of_ Galactic Geographic, the 600th Anniversary Edition.

_“You’re doing it again,” he said in a sing-songy voice._

_River looked down at him, folding her arms. Sometimes she really wished her subconscious would get a new schtick. “Doing what?”_

_“Avoiding complications. Haven’t you figured out by now that that doesn’t work? And besides, when it comes to life, complications are the best bit. Think of how dull everything would be without them.”_

_“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” River said._

_“Of course you do.” The Doctor closed his magazine and tossed it aside. “After all, I’m not actually the Doctor. I’m you. I just turn up looking like this to tell you the things you don’t want to hear because you don’t like me very much.”_

_“Or at all.”_

_“That’s just hurtful.”_

_“Good,” River said. “Now stop bothering me.”_

_The beanbag chair was abruptly gone and the Doctor was standing directly in front of her. River hastily backed away a step._

_“You don’t stay because you feel some sort of obligation or because you don’t have a good enough escape plan,” he said. “You stay because you_ want _to stay. There’s nothing wrong with that. This isn’t like before. You’re not suddenly going to turn into a new person one day and have to run away from him—from both of them--because they’d never understand.”_

_“Even without regeneration,” River said, “there’s still plenty about me that they’d never understand.”_

_“Now you’re just making excuses,” the Doctor said._

_He disappeared with an abruptness that made the world shake just a tiny bit around her._

River opened her eyes. The lamps in the apartment had been turned off, but enough city light leaked into the apartment to see by. Clint was easing himself down on the other side of the mattress, stretching out on top of the sheet.

“Sorry,” he said, when he saw that he’d woken her up.

“That’s okay.” River curled a little more comfortably onto her side “I was having a really weird dream, anyway.”

“Let me guess.” His voice sounded deliberately light. “It involved Fury and hula hoops?”

The face River made at him was probably wasted in the half-dark. “Well, now I’ll sleep well. Thanks for that.”

“Any time.”

River flipped her pillow over to the cool side, feeling sleep tugging insistently at her. “Did you turn up anything new in the files?” she asked.

“No,” he replied. “Just wanted to make sure we had everything covered, that’s all.”

River nodded. “We do. We’ll be fine.” And there would be time enough to worry about the particulars tomorrow. River smothered a yawn in a fold of sheet. “Good night, Clint.”

She saw a slight shift, dark against dark, as he tilted his head toward her a bit on his pillow. 

“Night, River.”

*****

_March -- December 2007_

Clint spent a lot of time telling himself that he was not going to go to hell for being attracted to his partner.

For one, he didn’t believe in hell, or much of anything else that smacked of an afterlife. For another, he sure as shit never intended to act on his feelings toward River.

But he was attracted to her, and that was normal, wasn’t it? They spent most of their time together, some of it in pretty intense situations. Besides, she was beautiful and he had better than average eyesight. She was scarily smart despite not having, as far as they had been able to tell, much more formal education than he did. She had a compassionate streak that she kept well hidden from all except those who knew her best. She was fearless and had the skills to back her courage up.

River in the field was a sight to behold. When working a mark she could play bubbly, shy, sexy, regal, or anything in between. When things turned hairy, she morphed into an efficient soldier. And then when all was said and done, she dropped back into the usual dry-witted practicality that he had come to think of as just River Song being River Song.

She had a wicked sense of humor, too. Clint thought that that was what had done him in, in the end.

They had been sitting at an outdoor table at a coffee shop down in the city one day back in March. Not for a stakeout or a job. They had just been killing some time, watching the antics of some Navy ensigns, clearly fresh off the boat.

The ringleader had called across the street to River, something about asking if she’d give him a “private tour” of New York. River had calmly flipped him off and gone back to her conversation with Clint.

“Well, they clearly think they’re hot stuff, don’t they?” Clint had said, more in a grumble than he’d intended.

“The Navy boys usually do,” River had replied, propping her feet up on the empty chair. “You know? I had sex with a middy, once. And trust me, that’s seventy-five seconds of my life I’m never getting back.”

Clint had had to hastily grab a handful of napkins to keep from spitting his coffee all over himself.

So, yes. It wasn’t exactly a question _why_ he was attracted to her. The question was what the hell to do about it.

The answer was _not a damn thing_. There was no way that worked out well.

Unfortunately, Clint’s eyes often had a mind of their own. Even so, he didn’t think he was too obvious until a mission in London in August. He and River had been posing as a married couple attending a charity ball to flush out the financial backer of an illegal arms dealer. He had been pacing around the sitting room of the hotel suite, wondering who the hell had picked the dress that River was wearing and if they were actively trying to kill him when he had caught Coulson giving him a serious look over the screen of his laptop.

“Do I even need to tell you,” Coulson had said quietly, “what a bad idea what you’re thinking about right now would be?”

Clint’s spine had stiffened abruptly, more out of guilt than offense.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he had said and quickly migrated to the other side of the room. He’d heard his handler sigh behind him.

That was Coulson, though. There was nothing Coulson didn’t see.

He wasn’t sure about River. He was sure she’d caught him staring at her a few times, but she’d never said anything. He’d been especially sure during the operation in Berlin that she was going to call him on it, which was a mildly terrifying prospect and not just because she might do said calling with a blunt instrument. 

But she hadn’t, and if she was either not noticing or electing to ignore it, then he had to do the same.

Clint got very good at telling himself why he needed to ignore it.

For one thing, he didn’t want River to ever think that she owed him anything. More to the point, he didn’t want River to think that _he_ thought she owed him anything.

Except that, as he learned more about River and she learned more about him, it seemed pretty clear that neither one of them really operated that way.

He told himself that it could screw up a good friendship and working relationship. Neither one of those things was easy to come by for him.

Except that screwing that up wasn’t a given, was it? 

He told himself that he was too old for her. Seven years was a bit of a leap at her age, wasn’t it? She was only twenty. And mental, physical, and emotional wear and tear made him feel even older than he was most days.

Except that River Song carried and conducted herself with the self-assurance of someone twice her age. He kept forgetting how young she actually was.

He told himself they’d be breaking, or at least bending, a dozen fraternization rules.

Except when did they ever really give a damn about the rules? 

He told himself that she’d never look twice at him. Not like that.

Except she did.

They were in Chicago in December, five months after the Berlin operation. The whole city seemed to have been bombed with tinsel and greenery, and little white lights had been strung over everything that had held still for more than two minutes. Trees and potted poinsettias had commandeered every available space and Christmas carols had infiltrated every working sound system.

Clint and River were posing as coworkers this time, visiting the city to sit in on some truly boring meetings at Whitley International, a company that was suspected of being a cover for far shadier dealings than distributing office supplies. It had been three days and they hadn’t turned up a damn thing yet. Clint had spent most of the day trying to keep his eyes from glazing over and being very grateful that he could earn a decent living doing something that didn’t involve an unhealthy relationship with spreadsheets. The office holiday party that they’d gotten sucked into after the workday had ended had done nothing to make him feel any different.

They were finally free, though, and were walking from the high rise back to their hotel in a blue cold wind. For a change, he _wasn’t_ thinking about River, but rather about whether it was possible to get frostbite from walking three city blocks when she abruptly stopped and turned. Clint automatically scanned their surroundings for potential threats, but stopped when River took hold of the front of his coat with both hands. When he looked down quizzically, she leaned up and kissed him until he wasn’t entirely sure which continent he was standing on.

When they broke apart he could have sworn that all those little white lights were shining twice as bright as they had been.

Or maybe that was just him.

Their arms had wound around each other at some point, and hadn’t it been cold before? River was looking up at him, a smile turning up the corners of her mouth. She lightly laced her fingers together behind his neck.

“I think,” River said, “we should go back to my room and get properly warmed up.”

Maybe he was dreaming. Again. Maybe this was a holiday-induced hallucination brought on by piped-in Christmas carols and organized good cheer. Clint didn’t really care.

“Lead the way,” he said.

*****

_April 2008_

“You know, when you get right down to it,” River said drowsily, “SHIELD really ought to encourage this.”

The wall of warmth that was pressed against her back shifted slightly as Clint tightened his arm around her waist and lifted his face from where it had been buried in the back of her neck. 

“Not that I’m disagreeing with you,” he replied, “but how do you figure?”

It had been almost four months since Chicago, and as far as River was concerned their new arrangement was working out very well. They were still friends and the benefits were outstanding. 

They were even doing a decent job keeping a low profile on base. At the very least, they hadn’t been hauled up in front of Fury yet for more or less shattering the SHIELD fraternization regs. River wasn’t even sure if the Director knew about the sharp left turn in the relationship between two of his covert operatives, and she certainly wasn’t going to ask. It wouldn’t have surprised her if he did, but sometimes ignorance really was bliss.

Coulson knew, of course. She and Clint hadn’t had a hope in hell of hiding it from their handler. Coulson had taken one look at the two of them when they returned from Chicago and assumed the appearance of a man who needed a good stiff drink.

There had been no long lecture or discussion about it, though. Coulson’s commentary had boiled down to, _You’re both adults, and I’m your handler not your chaperone. I’m not going to ask and I don’t want details. Just don’t grope each other in the hallways and don’t let it screw up your jobs._

So far, so good. River and Clint were being very careful to act professional in public on the base. They each had a bolt hole in the city they could retreat to on days off, and the rest of the time they wound up in each other’s quarters on a regular basis. Fortunately, at their respective ranks, SHIELD quarters were actually a livable size, not that they needed a whole lot of room for what they did.

It was early days, yet, but so far this hadn’t exploded in their faces. River supposed there was still plenty of time for that, but she deliberately wasn’t thinking that far ahead.

River rolled onto her back so that she could look at him.

“Because happier, more relaxed agents are less likely to snap in the workplace?” she said.

Clint snorted appreciatively. “I probably wouldn’t lead off with that argument in front of Psych, but okay.”

“Okay, better reasons.” River laced her fingers through his. “Well, it’s not as if we have to worry about letting sensitive information slip. Anything one of us knows about SHIELD, the other knows. We’ve both been vetted. Neither one of us is going to get nosy and start asking awkward questions about what we do or where we go. Neither one of us is likely to turn out to be an enemy agent looking to turn or kill the other. Looking at it logically, it’s the perfect arrangement.”

Clint leaned down and kissed her. “Tell you what,” he said. “In the morning, I’ll help you create the PowerPoint to submit to Fury.”

River found herself grinning up at him, mischievously. She had thought that that grin had gone extinct ages ago, but lately she had found it starting to creep back. “Video presentation.”

He froze halfway to moving in to kiss her neck, raising his head to look at her again. “Okay, there you’re on your own.”

River laughed, pulling him back down. “Now that just takes the fun out of it.”

Sometimes it really was better to not be alone.

And at least for now, the reward outweighed the risk.

*****

_July – December 2008_

Clint didn’t know when exactly he fell in love with River. He just knew that it hit him in the aftermath of the Ramirez kidnapping case in much the same way the hurricane hit the little Carolina costal town where the girl was being held.

After they handed Ava Ramirez off to her parents in Dallas, they boarded the SHIELD jet for the trip back to New York. River, who hadn’t gotten a decent night’s sleep since the case had popped up on their radar, started to droop the moment she was in her seat. Once they were in the air, Clint tugged her over and down until she was lying half across his lap, his jacket balled up under her head. River reached around and gave his arm an affectionate squeeze and was asleep in seconds.

Clint could have sworn he’d been struck by lightning.

What they already had going was good, of course. They were friends and they were partners who could watch each other’s backs. They didn’t have to explain every odd habit or quirk that happened to crop up thanks to their work. The sex was incredible. They apparently had had lives before SHIELD that were screwed up along similar lines, though neither one of them spent much time dwelling on them.

Somehow, the day after the storm, it was as if all of that had been amped up into Technicolor. He’d landed in Oz and wasn’t quite sure which road he was meant to take.

As far as causing complications went, if sex was napalm, then love was a hydrogen bomb. The potential for disaster if things went wrong was off the scale.

So he played it close to the vest, flattering himself that he did a better job of it this time around. At least until summer started edging again into winter and they found themselves on a SHIELD base in England outside of Brighton.

They had always had a nagging worry, ever since they brought River into SHIELD, that the events of Nairobi would catch up with her one day. 

When it finally happened, it was even uglier than they had ever anticipated.

It would take weeks, if not months, of debriefings and inquiries to sort out how the situation could have arisen in the first place, let alone how it could have gone to hell as badly as it did. At the end of it, Clint and River were both worse for wear, beaten up and singed. But they were still alive and in one piece. River was kneeling on the ground, looking down at him with an expression that was a mixture of relief and exasperation as she tried to help the medics keep him lying flat.

Clint didn’t think it was the smoke in his lungs that was making it so hard to breathe.

He shoved aside the hands that were trying to treat him and struggled to sit upright enough to get his arms around her. He didn’t think he’d ever held onto someone so tightly in his life. Clint didn’t know how many people were standing by watching. He didn’t care. Anyone who was watching and didn’t like it could go screw themselves as far as he was concerned.

He couldn’t have hidden what he was feeling even if he had wanted to. When he finally let go long enough for her to pull back and actually look at him, he could tell that she saw it. She studied him very solemnly for what felt like a long time, then rested her hands on either side of his face and smiled.

“Well. I guess we’re both just fucked, aren’t we?” she said.

He huffed a tired laugh, closed his eyes, and leaned his forehead against hers.

“I really, really think we are.”


End file.
